


it's never too late to teach an old dog new tricks

by MulaSaWala



Series: In Any Other World [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Collection: In Any Other World, Drabble Collection, Gen, HighSchoolTeacher!Harold, HighSchoolTeacher!John, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MulaSaWala/pseuds/MulaSaWala
Summary: When students left Mr. Swift's math class, they were usually either inspired or in tears.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are in no particular order unless stated otherwise.

When students left Mr. Swift's math class, they were usually either inspired or in tears. Although John was new, he'd heard from plenty of his students how intense Mr. Swift was (flip of a coin if that was ' _awesome_ ' or ' _the worst_ ') and John could admit to himself that he had been curious. His own vague recollection of high school math was of floral print, old lady perfume, and a voice that had lulled him to sleep (from someone nice enough that he'd felt guilty about it).  _V_ _ery_ different from Mr. Swift's class, John thought.

Sitting on the floor with one leg broken and another sprained should have hurt, but adrenaline was still rushing through him. Although meeting Mr. Swift had involved a laptop, a spilled (poured?) drink, and an unfortunately timed runaway baseball, John's attention was elswhere. Mr. Swift ( _'Harold'_ , his brain helpfully supplied) was awkwardly crouched over him, an almost comical expression of horror and embarrassment on his face

 

 _'Oh no,'_ John thought, _'He's cute.'_

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

If someone had asked Harold Swift to describe what an ex-army Phys. Ed. teacher would be like, he would have pictured someone very different from Mr. Hayes. Harold's own high school Phys. Ed. teacher, a Mr. Lou Grenville, had been a large balding man who had yelled at them and spoken ill of the only other Phys. Ed teacher in the whole school, Ms. Edith Callahan. Harold recalled desperately wanting to be in her class, because she had played with her students from time to time, and had pushed for a girls' softball team in accordance with the Title IX ammendment that had been passed for few years by then. (Mr. Grenville had yelled about that too)

In sharp contrast to Mr. Grenville, Harold had yet to hear Mr. Hayes raise his (very nice) voice. Even with both of his legs injured, Mr. Hayes had been unfailingly calm with the group of remorseful children who had approached them before either teacher could get his bearings. Mr. Hayes had sent them to get help and a wheelchair while Harold was still trying to simultaneously slow down his heartbeat and _disappear from the face of the earth_.

The students' departure left them in awkward silence that Harold immediately struggled to fill. (It wouldn't do to have the man dwell on the extreme pain he must have been in.)

 

"Mr. Hayes, are you okay?" Harold's brain was clearly still offline. Mr. Hayes was  _not_ okay.

 

"Please," Mr. Hayes said, "call me John." Then he smiled (his eyes crinkled, the corners of his mouth ticked up) and Harold was lost.

 

_Oh dear_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic is actually Harold Swift / John Hayes.
> 
> For anyone who can't recall, John Hayes was the alias they used to get into Trask's apartment complex, right after the CIA shot John.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr. Swift was Ryan Phipp's favorite teacher. He expected you to work hard and do your homework, but he wasn't stingy with grades and, by asking seniors, Ryan knew that everyone who had ever been in Mr. Swift's class always got higher than the national average in the math section of the SATs.

Mr. Swift was also co-head of the school's Computer Club. Ryan's genius little bro Caleb was in it, and Ryan always swung by after Track team practice so that the two of them could go home together.

The club was still in session when he got there, so Ryan knocked on the door before peeking inside the classroom. He nodded to Mr. Swift (who always let him wait in the back and waved him in without pausing his lecture) and got all the way to his seat at the back before he noticed the guy in a wheelchair behind Mr. Swift.

Ryan noted with irritation that it was Hayes, the new PE teacher. The bane of Ryan's existence ever since his almost-sort-of-friend-who-also-happened-to-be-the-most-beautifu-girl-in-the-world started talking about his eyes and his cheekbones and his stupid voice that always sounded like he'd just gotten punched in the throat.

All the students were sitting in a loose half-circle, laptops out and looking at Mr. Swift as he gestured enthusiastically. One of the things Ryan liked the most about Mr. Swift was that he was always _really_ into things, like he didn't know how to do anything halfway. Even Hayes was watching him, although his eyes seemed focused a little low...

Ryan narrowed his eyes. Was Hayes _checking out Mr. Swift's ass?_ Ryan made a face (like D:<) and glared at him.

He may not have been a genius like his brother, but Ryan wasn't dumb. He knew Mr. Swift had money (not that he had a flashy car or anything, he just seemed to go through laptops and phones really quickly) and he knew that teachers made shit salary. Hayes absolutely looked like the kind of douche who would take advantage, and Mr. Swift was such a nice guy, he probably wouldn't even know.

Hayes must have felt Ryan's eyes on him because he looked up, raising an eyebrow at Ryan's expression. Ryan had Mr. Paulson for PE this year, so he didn't break eye contact and just kept glaring. Hayes eventually looked away and turned his attention to his phone, but Ryan knew what he saw.

 

He'd have to start keeping a close eye on Hayes.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In canon, Ryan Phipps was the deceased brother of Caleb Phipps (the student Harold helped while John was in Rikers). 
> 
> This entire AU is set in a world that's a little kinder, so even though the story is theoretically set before the train incident (Caleb is still in middle school or is a freshman here) Ryan Phipps doesn't / will not die.


	4. Chapter 4

 

"This is a great idea, Harold. Having some company will be good for you."

 

"I broke both the man's legs, Nathan. My 'having company' isn't optional."

 

Nathan looked like he wanted to argue the matter and Harold sighed. In all honesty, he wasn't looking forward to having his privacy invaded for six to eight weeks, but Mr. Hayes' own apartment was on the fifth floor of an old building, built before accessibility was a consideration for architects. From what Harold had gathered, he doubted a wheelchair would even fit through the door of Mr. Hayes' very modest apartment.

Harold wondered at that. As the owner of the school, he knew very well how much each teacher was paid, and it was definitely enough to afford better lodgings. Mr. Hayes didn't have a drug addiction, gambling problems, or any of the other things that tended to drain one's funds. 

 

 _'Perhaps,'_ Harold thought whimsically,  _'Mr. Hayes is saving up to purchase a boat. Or a trip to Europe.'  
_

 

In contrast, Harold had a modest brownstone house. It was equipped with ramps and railings, even a study converted into a bedroom on the ground floor, from Harold's own time spent in a wheelchair. He remembered how difficult those months were, dealing not only with a broken leg, but a damaged spine.

Nathan's help had been indispensable for the first few weeks, and Harold knew that Mr. Hayes had no one. His research had revealed two parents long dead, no siblings. An old girlfriend who was now happily married and pregnant.  

He said as much to Nathan, who was busy shaking the dust out of an old comforter. Harold wondered if he would be better served purchasing a new one. He could afford a thousand without noticing; working with Nathan as his secret software developer certainly kept his bank accounts healthy. But no, there wasn't time.

Harold had asked Mr. Burton (a good friend, if a bit strange, although Harold could hardly cast stones) to drive Mr. Hayes to his apartment with Harold's car, so that the man could fetch his essential personal belongings. Harold himself had taken a cab to his brownstone, arriving before his coworkers to help Nathan ready his guest room. It was really quite lucky that Nathan had spent the night, working on their _project_.

 

"What's he like, Harold? Your soon-to-be roomate?" Nathan asked. He had finished with the comforter, hanging it from a chair while he efficiently tucked the corners of the coversheet under the mattress. Harold put covers on the pillows as he answered.

 

"He's 28, ex-army, finished cum laude at Washington University, Primary and Secondary Physical Education, black hair, blue--" Nathan interrupted Harold by laughing.

 

"Lord Almighty, don't give me his _measurements_ ," Nathan laughed, "I mean what's he _like_ _?_ "

 

Harold gave it some thought. Truth be told, he was hard pressed to think of a time that he had spoken to Mr. Hayes before today. Social interaction with his colleagues was... difficult, to say the least. Students were easy, by comparison, because there were guidelines, rules, a specific objective to keep in mind: _teach them something_. Aside from the few friends he had (Mr. Burton was one, Mr. Beckner, Ms. Hendricks... that was it, really), he had remained largely separate from the rest of the faculty.

 

"He's good at his job," Harold said finally. He left the room to fetch towels, and was ready to go on when he returned. "His students all like him, ( _'Although Ryan Phipps hadn't,'_ Harold thought.) Well, most of them. He's good with the younger pupils as well, and in the short time he's been employed, he's probably made more friend on staff than I have." Nathan snorted and surveyed his handiwork, hands on his hips.

 

"He's quiet," Harold paused, then continued. "And kind."

 

The doorbell rang before either of them could say more. Nathan's eyes got comically large and Harold knew his probably looked no better as they scrambled out of the room.

 

 _'My goodness, that was fast!'_ Harold thought.

 

"Mr. Swift?" Mr. Burton knocked on the front door this time, in case the doorbell was malfunctioning.

 

Harold made a face and shooed Nathan up the stairs. It wouldn't do for anyone to see eccentric billionaire Nathan Ingram in the house of unassuming schoolteacher Mr. Swift. Nathan could climb down the fire escape later tonight. Harold straightened himself up in the hallway before letting his guests in.

Harold's phone chirped few minutes later, as he entertained his guests. Harold didn't need to check it to know it was Nathan.

 

<you didn't say he was handsome>

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I let Jessica and Peter be happily married, with Peter not being a complete monster. Just a regular guy, maybe quick to anger, but Jess gives back as good as she gets, and she doesn't really think about John, who doesn't really think too much about her.
> 
> I meant what I said about this being a kinder world. The whole story is pretty much a pretext to have Harold and John be happy and fluffy together.


	5. Chapter 5

"You have a lovely home," Elias said as he hung up his coat. It was true. The brownstone belonging to Mr. Swift was on a corner lot, which allowed for the construction of a gentle ramp that let a wheelchair roll up with little difficulty. It was bigger than most, comprised of two units combined into one.

 

 _'Five to six million, easily.'_ Not bad for someone on a public school teacher's salary, Elias thought shrewdly.

 

"Thank you, Mr. Burton." Harold Swift looked up from where he was helping Hayes take off his coat to give Elias a quick smile.

 

Carl Elias, known to his coworkers as Charles Burton ("But call me Charlie, I insist"), smiled back briefly before continuing his perusal. The inside of the house was as tasteful as the outside, oozing upper (upper) middle class wealth, the place only a few blocks from Prospect Park. While their salaries were fine (certainly more than the usual for a school teacher), Elias doubted he'd be able to afford renting a broom closet in this neighborhood, if he had to rely solely on it. Thankfully, he didn't, although for discretion he maintained a lifestyle that was appropriate for his supposed income.

 

 _'Unlike my colleague, Mr. Swift.'_ Elias thought, though not unkindly. There were two expensive laptops on the kitchen table, as well as several burner phones and smartphones.

 

 _'_ _How suspicious.'_ Elias was delighted.

 

While there was something to be said for genuine altruists, and Harold Swift was surely that, there were also things that didn't add up; the increase in all the salaries at the school was one, as well as the hiring of new staff. The new library, the gym equipment. _The cameras everywhere_ _._

 

Elias had tried to find out where all the new money had come from, but all he got from his people was that some tech company had started sponsoring a bunch of schools in the area soon after sponsoring theirs, outfitting them all similarly. And now, dropped almost on his lap, was an extremely overqualified teacher with more money than the rest of the staff put together. How _interesting_.

 

He looked back at his colleagues and was amused to find Mr. Swift busying himself by hanging up their coats in the coat closet and Mr. Hayes (who was former military-maybe-more, also very interesting, albeit for different reasons) eyeing their colleague's backside. Elias' mouth twitched into a smile before before he looked away, lest he embatass his indiscrete colleague. _That_ would be fun to watch as it developed.

 

Having a co-worker on bed rest at a friend's house was a good enough pretext to visit (and gather more information), so Elias bid them both goodbye under the pretext of not wanting to intrude. As he drove away, he felt a little bit of excitement. What an _interesting_ year this was going to be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone!
> 
> My, 2017 is off to an interesting start.
> 
> Good luck out there! :)


	6. Chapter 6

There was something that everybody at IFTA knows, but nobody wanted to talk about.

 

Well, talk about out loud.

 

The other teachers whispered about it, warning newcomers (chuckling under their breath as they did so).

 

Mr. Swift was an excellent teacher, they all said, extraordinary even. He really inspired his students, they loved him, and he had the standardized test scores to back him up.

 

 _But_.

 

But, he was the absolute worst _substitute_ teacher.

 

John thought the whole thing was absolutely hilarious.

 

The over-the-top, melodramatic dread was really reserved for the teachers of classes he could reasonably handle, and was sometimes asked to do so. Math, Computer Science (most sciences, actually, just _not biology_. Not if _specimens_ needed _handling_ ), even English in a pinch. The fear they felt was real and immediate.

  
  
The rest of the faculty were free to regale each other with their horror stories, in good humor and with a lot of friendly ribbing.

  
  
They told the tale of  the time students from a sixth grade class got into a fist fight about whether numbers existed before the Big Bang. A more benign incident where third graders took turns writing down numbers in a notebook to see how high they could go (that thing was still going around, passed from class to class).  
  
Even freshman English wasn't safe; they took up a petition to get Italian as an option for their foreign language credits. (Although Swift had handled that one, requesting time to speak to the class in question during homeroom period. After a second class with Swift, the students had seen the appeal of French and Spanish, and the crisis was averted.)

  
John, as a PE teacher, had felt confident that Harold Swift would never be a substitute teacher for his class. It turns out, he was wrong.

To be fair, Harold wasn't a substitute per se, but John's injuries kept him in a wheelchair and Harold had very kindly offered his presence as an assistant.

  
  
That was the most appealing thing about him, John thought. Harold was, above all else, _kind_.

 

As much time as the two of them were obliged to spend together, John was privy to all the things Harold did for the students and his colleagues. Fixing student computers, playing consultant to teachers looking for insurance (the recent salary bump was welcome), even keeping track of the "internet accounts" of the more elderly teachers (who refused to write their account information down, insisting that they would remember their passwords, but never did.).  
  
John wondered if all new teachers were also warned against becoming infatuated with Mr. Swift, if only for their own good, because John had been flirting with him non-stop for almost a week now, and had gotten nothing back. He was perfectly capable of embarrassing the other teacher (and the sight of Harold with pink cheeks, a small smile on his face, was _adorable_ ), but he had responded to none of John's advances.

  
  
"Keep at it, man."

  
  
John looked up (and he should really stop letting his eyes wander during class; he hoped no one noticed he had been staring at a colleagues ass) and found one of his students, Darren McGrady, standing beside his wheelchair.

  
  
"Swift's a hard case, but he's always staring at you too."

  
  
John couldn't help it, his eyes darted to Harold, who was looking at them. Their eyes met for a second, (Harold _smiled_ at him!) and John forced his gaze back to his student, who waggled his eyebrows at him before jogging back to the mat, where Mr. Swift was supervising another group of students doing yoga. 

  
Children were a menace, and John should really just ask Coach Shaw to help him out, instead of relying on the distracting Mr. Swift.

 

  
Except, he won’t.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This was the first fic I updated in 2017, so I thought I'd also make it the first fic I update 2018!
> 
> Dedicated to vindicatedtruth. Astig ka talaga! :D
> 
> To Zaniida: this isn't the fanart I promised, thanks for being patient with me :P

 

It didn't take a genius to figure out why Mr. Swift had built his home this way, designed accommodate someone with physical disabilities . John guessed spinal issues, as well as a permanently injured leg; he'd seen a lot of both in Iraq and Afghanistan. (Not that it was any of his business). No one on the school's staff knew why or when Swift had been injured, but Harold's having been injured was working out in John's favor right now. Or it would be, if what John wanted was complete independence from Mr. Swift.

 

That wasn't what John wanted. At all.

 

\---

 

Harold had barely made it up the stairs and to his desk chair when he heard Mr. Hayes calling for him again.

 

"We're not going to make it, Nathan. He's going to work me to death, or I'm going to strangle him."

 

 Harold buried his face in his hands as he said this. Was that over-the-top melodramatic of him? Maybe so, but he felt that the situation warranted it. Across the work desk Harold kept in his upstairs office, Nathan's silence was telling.

 

"This is not funny." Harold said, wondering what he had done in a past life to warrant such an unpleasant best friend.

 

 A muffled chuckle; Harold didn't bother looking.

 

"What did he want?" Nathan asked after a moment.

   

"He called me downstairs to ask me if I would prefer watching a documentary about boats, or about dinosaurs ."

 

 "And which would you prefer, Harold?"

 

  _'Why did it feel like Nathan was asking him something else?'_

 

"It doesn't matter, _Nathan_ , I'm up here with you." Harold replied.

 

There was more silence from Nathan, so Harold finally looked up and, _wow_ , that was not an expression he saw often on his friend .

 

 "What." Harold not-asked.

 

 "Hear me out before you reject this idea but,"

 

 Nathan held his hands up, the universal gesture for _please don't hurt me_ ,

 

 "But maybe you should try staying down there and watching TV with him, Harold."

 

 "What, why?" Genuine confusion colored Harold's tone.

  

Nathan just sighed.

 

 "Do you trust me?"

   

The lack of pause was gratifying, "Of course I trust you, but how does that relate to--"

 

 "Then trust me. Stay down there for 10 minutes. And if he still won't settle down, I'll text you with an 'emergency'. How's that sound?"

   

John's voice carried up the stairs again, a bit louder than before. Asking for coffee. At ten in the evening, of all things.

 

 "Fine." Harold was Not Happy.

 

 ---

  

John knew he was pushing his luck by pestering his gracious host, but he was pretty sure Mr. Swift had taken a man upstairs while John had been in the bathroom .

  

  _'Is he in Harold's bedroom right now?'_ John wanted to know.

   

John was self-aware enough to know he was being jealous (and a dick) by constantly demanding Harold's attention. It was petty, but he couldn't help it; his legs were hurting, and he wanted Mr. Swift's company. Even if the man upstairs _was_ Mr. Swift's Actual Boyfriend (No ring on his finger though, John had checked, so they definitely weren't married), John just... wanted some company.

Years of working in the CIA had left him bereft of the trappings of an ordinary life. Being honorably discharged was what he'd wanted, John had requested it himself. But since leaving the service, he hadn't known what to do with himself, had only gotten the teaching job at Snow's behest to fill the hours . After months on autopilot, it finally felt like he was... connected again, to the world.

  

Was that so bad? 

  

 _Yes_ , he decided, and promised himself that he would not to call Harold back down again. But, to John's surprise, Harold stayed downstairs this time. Harold got the coffee John wanted (John wasn't a fan of coffee, but the kettle was one of the few things out of his reach in the kitchen) and got some tea for himself . Then he settled in on the other side of the couch. With John. After a surreptitious glance, the gym teacher could tell that Harold wasn't irritated or anything .

They sat there, watching a documentary about dinosaurs together. It was the most enjoyable thing John had done in a long, long while. Soon they were chatting about their coworkers, and _" Do you think anyone believes Mr. Trask's tall tales ?" "I do!"_ (Harold's laughter was music to John's ears)

But then, Harold's phone beeped, and John didn't mean to look, promise, but he saw that someone had sent Harold a text message.

  

_call me tomorrow ;) xoxo_

 

There were some suspicious noises in the bushes outside soon after, which they both ignored . But John felt a little heartbroken already. What if Harold was already in a relationship, and was simply hiding it out of, what, an abundance of caution? (John could get that, he'd served under Don't Ask, Don't Tell). If that was true, then he should tell Harold that he should feel free to have his boyfriend over. Whenever he wanted, because this was _his home_. And John was, well, John was a hundred _and ten_ percent supportive of Harold, not to mention that the gym teacher played for both teams himself.

 

(Not that Harold would care, because Harold was _already taken_.)

 

The night continued to be pleasant, and soon Harold (That's Mr. Swift to you, John told himself) bid John goodnight and went upstairs. John went through his own nightly ablutions, washing his face and changing clothes before got into bed.

 

His last thought was,

 

_'I need to get drunk.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a vague headcanon that John is adept at Spy Seduction (TM) or whatever, but that he has absolutely no game when it comes to someone he's actually interested in. I read a theory somewhere that said maybe John and Jessica grew up together. I am making that true in this fic. In my head, John was only able to ask out Jess because they knew each other their whole lives. Otherwise, he is an awkward turtle.
> 
> So, yes, his version of flirting with Harold is mostly just annoying the fuck out of the bespectacled man. (John would pull pigtails if he could).
> 
> Harold, on the other hand, well, he's mostly just oblivious to that sort of thing, wygd.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a plot bunny bit me, so i'm updating this fic two times in a row :P
> 
> I'm still alive! still writing, just busy between work and school. 
> 
> I know I said this was a happy fun times fic, and it is, but I thought I'd give John a teensy amount of angst. Because reasons.

 

 

 

 

 

The club was loud. Much too loud for John, who Shaw knew preferred quiet when he consumed alcohol. Not that he consumed a lot of alcohol, or consumed it very often. As far as she knew, the occasional drink out with friends was usually more than enough for him.

 

But not tonight. Tonight, he was drinking his troubles away, and Shaw was paying for it (in more ways than one).

 

"You're pathetic, Hayes."

 

Coach Shaw, much like John Hayes, very rarely raised her voice. Even now, she spoke as if she was the only one making a sound. Nonetheless, she was sure that John could hear her clearly over the synth beats blasting out of the club's giant speakers,.

 

"I know," John's reply was drawn out, almost a whine. Shaw had no patience for it.

 

To her knowledge, this was the first night that John had not gone home with Harold after classes for the day. It was to give him time with his boyfriend, John had said. His boyfriend that he still hadn't introduced to John.

 

"Am I so untrustworthy?" John thought out loud, listlessly leaning onto the bar.

 

_Enough._

 

\---

 

"Swift,"

 

"Yes?"

 

Harold picked up his phone on the first ring. It was silly, he knew, to stay up waiting for Mr. Hayes. Wheelchair or not, Mr. Hayes was an adult perfectly capable of calling himself a cab after a night out drinking with his friends.

Regardless, Harold stayed up, reading Asimov by lamplight. It wasn't hurting anyone, and it was nobody else' business besides, if Harold stayed up because... just because.

 

"Come pick up your pet gym teacher, he got himself plastered in O'Halligan's. You know, that dive off the corner of Brighton First and Ocean? " 

 

"Ms. Shaw?" It took Harold a moment to process that it wasn't Mr. Hayes calling (though the call came from his phone), but their colleague.

 

"Has something happened to Mr. Hayes, Ms. Shaw?" Harold was putting on his shoes even as he asked.

 

"Relax, Harold. He's drunk off his ass, but he's fine. I have an early day tomorrow, so I need to leave before 1:30, with or without this asshole."

 

Harold glanced at the wall clock as he retrieved his keys, exclaiming when he saw the time.

 

"It's already a quarter past one o'clock, Ms. Shaw!"

 

"So hurry up, then."

 

\---

 

John was floating in a haze where everything was soft and nothing hurt. Harold's face swam into focus in front of him. Harold was so handsome

 

"Oh, hey Harold, you're looking handsome as usual,"

 

"Hey yourself, Mr. Hayes. Let's go home. Do turn off that camera, Ms. Shaw, it's impolite to film someone inebriated."

 

John didn't understand half of what Harold said, but he understood _home_ well enough.

 

"Hehehe, home. Harold's taking me home,"

 

Upsy daisy, spinning around, and suddenlt John was in Harold's car. It was a nice car. How could Harold afford such a nice car? Doesn't matter, Harold should have the nice things.

 

"Are you quite all right, Mr. Hayes? There's a bottle of water in the glove compartment, if you'd like some water."

 

See? So _kind_. Harold should have _all_ the nice things.

 

"My name is John," he reminded Harold. Because Harold forgot sometimes. 

 

John fiddled with radio, thinking. He was going to do something... What was it?

 

As soon as they got to Harold's house ( _home_ ), John remembered.

 

"Hey, Harold?" John poured himself into his wheelchair as soon as Harold wheeled it close enough. His wheelchair that used to be Harold's, so it had that little thing? That made it move?

 

"Yes, Mr. Hayes? Do you need assistance?"

 

"Nah. But you can bring your boyfriend by sometimes, you know"

 

" _W_ _hat?_ _"_

 

See, this is what John was talking about at the club with Shaw. Harol'd didn't have to sound so _surprised_.

 

"I'm not, like, an asshole or anything," John clarified, "I'm down with the rainbow."

 

"Mr. Hayes, I--"

 

How many times did he have to remind Harold?

 

"It's Jo-. It' Joh-."

 

_hurk_

 

John winced. At least he hadn't hit anything. Just the poor sidewalk.

 

"Why don't we get you to bed, Mr. Hayes."

 

John closed his eyes in humiliation as Harold rolled him inside. He could have sworn that he'd only closed them for a second. But when he opened them again, he was already in bed, Harold tucking him in to prevent him from falling to the floor. _so kind.  
_

 

"Good night, Harold"

 

"Good night, Mr. Hayes"

 

"It's John,"

 

John's eyes were like lead weights, becoming impossible to keep up. He might already be dreaming at this point, because he thought he heard Harold's voice one more time before going under

 

"Good night, John"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Shaw stayed to help Harold load John into Harold's car. The wheelchair is easier to get off the car, than on it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love some feedback and suggestions. Please feel free to leave a prompt, but I can't guarantee that I'll write it.


End file.
